Vodka or Vulture
by Icecreamandstrawberries
Summary: After homecoming, Peters world is flipped upside down. He can't go a night without waking up in a cold sweat, his grades are slipping, and he feels as though everything is becoming too much to handle. When Peter starts drinking at night to sleep without nightmares, he doesn't think twice of it ever becoming a problem. Until it does. (I've never written fanfic before, pls give tips!
1. Chapter 1

Peter awoke with a jolt. Sweat poured down his face and he rubbed his eyes. He was stupid to think he could go a night without a nightmare. Homecoming was repaying on a loop in his mind. The rubble was crushing him to death, his friends and family were dying because of him, the usual.

Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to his feet, his heart pounding. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears. A quick glance in the mirror revealed he looked as crappy as he felt: pale and clammy skin complimented by bloodshot and sunken eyes. He tried to take a deep breath, but it was shaky. His brain started cycling like it does when he gets like this, and soon he felt as if his brain volume was full blast. Not good enough, not smart enough, not fast enough, not strong enough, not mature enough, not enough. Over and over again until his breath caught and he couldn't breathe and his whole was rigid and his hands were like claws and he felt like he was imploding. He dared to meet his own eyes in the mirror. Pathetic. If Mr Stark saw him like this, it would all be over. Weak. Peter closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. He just wanted to relax for one moment in his life. He was always on edge.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at his Star Wars x wing alarm clock. 2:36in the morning. He then found his eyes being drawn to a water bottle on the top shelf of his desk. He sighed. Two nights ago after a particularly horrible dream where he couldn't go back to sleep, he'd wandered into the kitchen and somehow ended up pouring some of Mays vodka into an empty bottle. He had no reason to do this. He didn't drink. When May would let him sip her wine occasionally he would always gag and make a face. Peter didn't want to drink, but maybe he needed to drink.

He reached for the bottle with shaking hands and unscrewed the cap. One sniff almost made his dinner reappear. The vodka smelled exactly like a nail polish remover and bleach smoothie from the fiery pits of hell. Peter paused briefly and weighed his options. Hellish drink or yet another nightmare? "Not exactly a tough choice", Peter thought, yet he still hesitated. "Come on Spider-Man," he muttered to himsef. "It's vodka, not vulture." Peter knew he had a chemistry test tomorrow AND an English essay, and if he got no sleep the rest of the night, he'd be screwed for both, and with the way his grades had been slipping since homecoming, he could not afford two more F's this semester. He sighed as he brought the bottle to his lips and took several swigs. If the smell was bad, there were no words for the taste. Peter forced the burning liquid down his throat, lips pressed tightly together to ensure he didn't spew it on his calculus homework. Once it was down, Peter quickly grabbed a half empty bottle of lime Gatorade from his back pack. He'd bought it for a post it patrol treat at the deli and hadn't finished it before he crashed into bed. In seconds, the yellow-green liquid was long gone, yet the taste of the vodka lingered in Peters mouth.

He sat on the edge of his bed, wringing his sweaty hands. Peter didn't feel like himself at at all. He didn't do this things like this. He was spideman, not the type of kid who stole alcohol from the fridge and downed it in the middle of the night. The memories were pressing into his mind, threatening to reappear and cause the second panic attack of the night. Peter forced himself to think of something, anything to keep his mind off of the past. He started to run through the presidents, and when he got stuck after Ford he started doing the states, then countries of the world, then digits of pi.

Peter knew the vodka must have taken effect when he got stuck after he was stumped on the 125th number, he could usually get to at least 400 places before he had trouble. Peter didn't feel drunk, he just felt like his head has gained 10 pounds. "Woah", peter whispered as he swayed his head from side to side. He felt extremely similar to a bowling bowl. As he collapsed back into his cool sheets and let his eyes slide close, he gave one last angry glance to the vodka water bottle on his desk, then promptly rolled over to his other side and fell into his first peaceful sleep since before homecomg.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't long before Peter got into a routine. 4 shots before bed and he slept like a baby. Not enough to feel sick in the morning, but enough to knock him out for at least a few hours after a long night of patrolling. But after a few weeks of this habit, he found himself still laying in bed for an hour before eventually falling asleep, and the cycling returned with a vengeance. So, Peter upped his dosage to 6 shots. He still didn't like the taste, but he'd stopped gagging now, and found that if he just did it without thinking, the drink went down a lot smoother. Peter thought of the vodka as sleeping medication, everyone has something that works for them, and this just happened to be his. It wasn't a crutch, he wasn't addicted, his schedule was just too jam packed to waste any time on tossing in his sleep.

Everything was going smoothly until someone dropped a beaker in chemistry and Peter stumbled into the hall and proceeded to have a full blown panic attack. "Keep it together," he muttered to himself. "No one is supposed to see you like this." After he had another freak out the next day when his home room teacher turned on the news to reveal the Vultures trail. Peter was fed up. People were starting to notice his newly skittish attitude. "Hey man," Ned said as he slowly entered the bathroom a few minutes after Peter fled class for the third time that week, his eyes widening when he saw Peter sitting in the corner, knees hunched up. "What's up?" "Nothing," Peter choked, stumbling to his feet. "I just stayed out super late on patrol last night." "Ok good, you looked like you were gonna be sick or something" Ned said, his concerned expression fading. "You coming to lunch? It's pizza Friday."

And so when Peter woke up the next morning, it was only logical for him to take 2 shots before school, just so he could be chill. But after only a few days, 2 became 3, then next week it was 4. He started falling asleep in almost every class, but hey, at least he wasn't choking on air in the boys bathroom anymore. On the morning of his quarterly calculus exam, Peter was so nervous that he had to take 5 shots just to catch his breath. However, he did not count on falling asleep the second he was handed the test packet. When the ringing of the bell didn't wake him, the teacher shook his shoulders. "Peter, class is over." Peters eyes cracked open, then he flew to his feet, eyes widening at his blank exam. "Mrs Anderson I am sosossorry i-i got n-no sleep last night and I didn't mean to-" Peter started, but his teacher just shook her head. "You know the rules, Peter. You'll just have to take the grade." Peter stumbled out of the class, blinking back tears. He never meant for things to get this bad. He just wanted to calm the hell down.

Peter felt like crap the rest of the day, and even the thought of doing suit improvement with Mr Stark after school couldn't cheer him up. Happy picked him up promptly at 3:15, and he was asleep before they even hit Brooklyn. Happy shook him awake when they reached avengers tower, and Pete hastily climbed out of the black SUV and slammed the car with a little too much force, leaving hairline fractures in the passenger window. "You ok, kid?" Happy asked, eyes glued to his email inbox. "Just peachy," Peter grumbled, making his way to the elevator.

After a few hours talking tech with Mr Stark, he felt his eyelids beginning to droop involuntary. "How late are you staying out on patrol, kid?" Tony asked, eyeing Peters sunken eyes and pale face. "You look like you've aged 20 years in a few months" "Not too late," Peter said, not wanting to reveal that the latest increase of crime in Queens meant that he was out past 1 am most nights, and up doing homework until 4. But hey, the shots knocked him out in seconds, and 2 and a half hours of sleep seemed like it was enough. At least until today's blunder in math. "Do you drink coffee? If not, I'm buying you a Keurig, stat. I don't want you swinging through the alleys of Queens exhausted." Peter only had the energy to weakly smile as Mr Stark ordered Friday to arrange for UPS to drop off a coffee maker at his house later that night.

And so the next morning, Peter had 4 shots of vodka, and 4 shots of espresso. By lunch time at school, he felt that he had found the perfect combo. Calmed mind without the urge to sleep at all times, and energy without his nerves bouncing off the walls. No more embarrassing panicking in the boys bathroom stalls, and no more passing out in class. At last, things were looking up. /div


	3. Chapter 3

This routine stuck for two weeks, and Peter felt so good at school that he found he could cut his sleep back to only an hour and a half, which gave him an extra hour of patrol by only increasing both shots by one. A win win situation!

Even though his energy was up, his grades stayed down. He just couldn't seem to focus in class anymore. "I'm worried about you sweetie, this just isn't like you," May soothed, as she looked at Peters first quarter report card, which was littered with C's. Peters heart was pounding so loud he was sure May could here it from across the kitchen table. "You're a disappointment, a failure, you've let her down you unintelligent piece of shit" He felt as though his brain was at full volume. He barley managed to choke out an apology as he stumbled out of the kitchen and into his room. Suddenly, his mind moved to other things, and in seconds he was back under the warehouse, throat raw from screaming, water streaming down his face, dying alone at the hands of the Vulture. He locked the door then dropped into his desk chair, head in his hands, breathing labored. Shakily, he reached for the vodka water bottle on his desk. He'd had to refill it a few times now, but he made sure to top off Mays bottle with water. She never drank anything other than white wine anyway.

Peter poured a shot into his Coney Island shot glass (he'd invested in this a few months ago, how fitting) and quickly downed it. Then another. And another. And another. And more and more until the water bottle was empty and he'd had 10 and a half shots and his head felt ten pounds heavier and nothing stayed in place when he turned his head. He had to squint to see the time on his alarm clock. 7:48 pm. The sun was setting, and prime crime time was rapidly approaching. He lunged for his suit hidden at the bottom of his backpack and tugged it on, crashing into his dresser as he did so. Peter blinked several times, trying to adjust to the glowing light of the suits interior. "Peter, you're blood alcohol content is at 0.19 and climbing, I really cannot recommend you going out on patrol tonight." Karen's voice filled Peters ears, yet he shook off her concerns. "M fine, Karen, the little guy needs watching out for!" Peter laughed, tripping on the corner of his bed as he headed for the window. Suddenly, a new noise surrounded him, and he quickly realized that Mr Stark was calling him. "Shit," Peter muttered, as he scrunched his eyes shut and swallowed hard, trying to remember what his voice normally sounded like when he answered the phone. "Hey-y Mr Stark, what's up?" He said in a voice that sounded way too high to be his own. "Hey kid. You know how you're always texting Happy about when the next mission is? Well, not so much recently, although I can't say he misses his phone getting blown up every few minutes." Peters heart leaped the real joy for the first time in months. A real mission! This was his chance to make Mr Stark proud and prove himself.

Tony gave him the info: two ex shield agents gone rogue, using stolen strike team gear to wreck havoc on Soho. Him, Steve, Natasha, and Clint were heading down there now, and Peter should meet them ASAP. Peter had a dopey smile on his face throughout the entire conversation. He'd been waiting for this moment for months! And not only was Mr Stark there, but so where some other avengers! His first time seeing any of them since Germany, so he had to make sure he was on his A-game. Peter stumbled out of his window and slung his way towards the city skyline, which had smoke rising up in the distance, ignoring Karen's warnings that his blood alcohol content was now at 0.24.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter slung across Brooklyn and over the east river towards the city, his heart pounding loudly in his eyes. He eventually slung onto an empty rooftop near the action, and subsequently cracked his head on a flower pot. "Peter, you might want to sit this one out," Karen offered, "You already have a large head contusion and a mild concussion." Peter ignored her, hiccuped once, and then tapped into the com system. "Hey guys, don't worry I am here and ready to save the day!" "P-Spider-Man get your ass down here now we need-" an explosion cut off Tony's voice "immediate backup. Pronto, ASAP, stat." "Ok I'm on it," Peter responded, before jumping off the edge of the roof and swinging toward the action.

He landed softly in the street, but black spots still danced before his eyes, and the sidewalk swayed. Peter barley had a chance to look up and see the bullet coming for him. He tried to backflip away from its line of fire, but it still clipped his shoulder. Peter shrugged it off, he barley even felt it. "Well that wasn't a very nice greeting," Peter quipped before shooting a web towards the ex shield agents legs. The man fell to the ground, but only briefly. He pulled out another gun, and Peter stumbled backwards, hit the curb, fell on his butt, and waited for the end.

Instead of blowing Peters brains out, the man used it to shoot thing red laser beams to slice off the webbing that encased his lower legs, then jumped to his feet, and looked at Peter sitting on his butt. "Oh shit that's not good," Peter thought, attempting to clamber to his feet, ears ringing. The man squinted at Peter in confusion. "No it's not good. For you at least," the man laughed. Had Peter said that out loud? "A little slow on your feet, are you? I've got something that'll speed you up," and the man aimed the laser gun at Peter. Searing pain erupted in Peters leg, and this time he couldn't hold back the grunt of pain from escaping. Peter shot web shooters at the top of nearby building to attempt to escape to safety, but the WE shooters went way over the top. Second time was the charm, and Peter pulled himself up up and away, ignoring the pressing nausea in his stomach. Peter collapsed on the rooftop, catching his breath.

It took him a moment to realize that it was odd he hadn't been pursued in his clumsy dash to freedom, and he peered over the edge of the building to see what was going on. His eyes widened as he took in Steve, Natasha, and Clint taking on the rogue agent. Peter had never seen the avengers take more than 5 seconds to apprehend a normal human target, but it was clear that this agents weapons were becoming a problem. Fire erupted from his hands and he shots balls of flames at Steve, who barley escaped their path. Peter sat back down on the rooftop. He couldn't believe he was letting them down, hiding away from the action. He should be down there, swinging into help, but his legs felt like jello. The pain from the laser burn and bullet graze were catching up with him, even though he knew his healing factor would clear them up by tomorrow.

"Spider-Man, are you there? Report." Peter became vaguely aware that Mr Stark was yelling into the com. "Yeah yup I'm here what is up," Peter yelped. "Where the hell have you been? The only person whose seen you is Natasha, and she swore you fell on your ass trying to swing away." "I'm sor-sorry I just got sick and-" His voice was interrupted by a booming sound from below. Peter drunkenly stumbled to the buildings edge and saw Clint slumped against the wall, and Steve and Natasha looking weary as they tried to grab the bombs out of the mans hand. "Gotta blast Mr Stark!" Peter yelled as he swung down to the street. He didn't even have time for a quip before he saw a gun being pointed at him. Another bullet grazed his other shoulder, and Peter cursed as he stumbled backwards and was forced to grab a lamppost to steady himself.

"Spider-Man what the hell is wrong with you?" Natasha yelled into the com as she landed a solid punch on the mans face that finally sent him falling backwards. Steve finished him off with a blow to the head with his shield, and the man was out like a light. Natasha jogged over to him. "Did you get shot?" She sputtered, grabbing his arm and examine the bullet wound. "Twice?" Her eyes widened as she looked at the other arm leaking wood. "M fine I just need to sit. I'm sorry I couldn't help guys, I was just tired and it looked like-" "Stop talking," Natasha commanded, interrupting his rambling as she then spoke into her com. "Ok so not only has Spider-Man been shot twice, but he's also been burned by a high intensity shield laser. Oh also he's wasted drunk." There was a moment of silence on the comms before all hell broke loose.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter couldn't make out individual voices, just a lot of curse words. Peter felt his eyelids droop closed as he slid towards the pavement, yearning to be horizontal, yet the relief never came. Instead, he found himself in the hands of Iron man. Tony's face plate snapped up. "What the actual fu- what in gods name- why are- who did you- how did-" Tony sputtered, face lined with equal parts worry, anger, shock, and confusion. Tony scooped Peter up bridal style and they shot into the air and up town towards avengers tower.

Tony flew in an open balcony door and dropped Peter on the couch before removing his mask. Peter closed his eyes and willed himself not to vomit, as he listened to Tony yell for Friday to bring Bruce into the living room, before he couldn't hear anything anymore besides the ringing from earlier and the cycling that had started in his mind. His vision was completely blackened. "You mess everything up, you can't do anything right, you're just a dumb ass kid with no hope or future or parents or talent and you're a waste of space and you're just horrible horrible horriblehlrriblehorribleborriblehorrible" and he felt the weight of every mistake he'd ever made press into him and then he felt the pressure of the warehouse on him, and the heat rising of the crumbled concrete and the pain of jagged metal jarring into his lower back and he knew that this was the end and suddenly, Peter was sitting up, eyes wide, unable to catch his breath, before leaning over the side of the couch and vomiting onto the floor. "Jesus Christ," Peter heard Tony mutter.

Peter opened his eyes. Bruce was putting away suture supplies and Tony was staring at Peter like a he had two heads. "Hey man, I know kids pregame football games and school dances, but I didn't know getting plastered drunk before going into battle was a thing a now!" Tony exclaimed, a hollow look in his eyes. His voice lowered. "What the hell were you thinking Parker." Peters breath still didn't come easily, and he still felt like mjölnir was sitting on his chest. "I didnt drink for the mission, i swear, I was already drunk and I was just and I was just going out on patrol-" "out on patrol?" Tony sputtered, shock etching the lines of his weary face. Bruce was now examine the wound on the back of his head. Peter winced as he prodded the swollen lump. "Why the hell would you think it'd be a good idea to go swinging through the city drunk off your ass?" Peter rubbed his eyes. The world was still spinning, and he yearned for a nice cool pillow and his bed. "I didn't, I mean I was just stressed and just did a few shots it's not a h-huge deal-" "Wait hold up, how long has this been going on for?" Tony eyebrows furrowed. Peter sighed. "How long has what been going on for?" "This isn't the first time this has happened is it. You getting drunk. You were having a panic attack a few minutes ago. Jesus Christ I can't believe this," Tony said, shaking and putting his head in his hands. Peter felt his heart sink and jumped to his feet tugging on Tony's sleeve. "I'm fine Mr Stark, I'm s-sorry-" Black spots danced into Peters vision again and he felt like his leads were sticks of lead. He heard shouting as Bruce grabbed his shoulder and guided him back to the couch.

"You are not fine, kid. You're 15 you shouldn't be self medicating with vodka shots." Peter hiccuped and shakily ran his hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to freak you out, I just didn't want to tell you and let you down, I just couldn't handle freaking out at school anymore and-" "Wait, hold up. You've been drinking at school?" Tony pic he's the bridge of his nose like he had a horrible headache, which he probably did, to be fair. "No no no," Peter stammered, desperate to salvage what little dignity he hadn't puked on the Persian rug. "J-just before school...and before bed" Peter stared at the ground. His limbs were weighing him down and his eyelids were dropping. Tony's face looked as though it had aged 10 years in 10 minutes.

Peter closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, before hearing the other avengers enter from the elevator. "Hey what-" Natasha began before his eyes widened as he took in Peters limp and pale body laying on Tony's leather love seat. "Wow.. shit!" "Is that," Steve stammered "Dear god, why is that CHILD wearing the Spider-Man suit." "This is underoos," Tony muttered. The room broke out into angry discussion. "What the actual fuck stark?" Clint demanded stepping closer to Peter. "That's deadass a child!" "I'm 15-" Peter began but was silenced by a glare by Tony. Peter shut his eyes, but still felt like he was on a boat out at sea. He tried to block out the sounds of the yells, but they were on full volume blast. "-and why the hell is he drunk?" Steve demanded. "I'm working on that one," Tony muttered rubbing his temples.

Bruce appeared seemingly out of nowhere and handed Peter three small white pills. "Sedatives," he stated, matter of factly. "Trust me, you don't want to be here for the fall out of this fight." Peter quickly chucked back the pills and dry swallows them. And within 10 seconds he felt himself drifting away into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
